


Sandor Clegane, LMT

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, sansaxsandor 2015 ficfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5624773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hound is a licensed massage therapist!<br/>Or a big fat liar.<br/>It's definitely one of those.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sandor Clegane, LMT

**Author's Note:**

> Based on LittleBirdAddicted's prompt on the LiveJournal sansaxsandor 2015 Ficfest:
> 
> "Massage therapist Sandor. That was hinted as a joke in one of Sassy Eggs fics (For the Better), wouldn't that be awesome? Sansa half naked in the semi dark room, his warm, strong but gentle hands, his deep raspy voice.... "
> 
> Thanks to SnowWhiteKnight for her creative guidance on this fic.

“Where the fuck is she, I’ve been trying to get ahold of her for hours.”

Sandor had only come over under promises of craft beer and football on a big-screen, neither of which had materialized yet since apparently Joff was too busy jabbing at his phone and muttering like an immature spoiled little prick. All because his girlfriend wasn’t answering his calls.

“She’s gonna pay for this,” he whined again, then turned his sniveling little face in the Hound’s direction. “And I got just the thing, too.  You wanna hear?” 

He _didn’t_ want to hear, to be honest, but fortunately the ass-hat was interrupted by sounds at the front door, and soon the girl in question was wandering into the living room, arms laden with shopping bags.

“Hey… Joffrey. How are you?”  She smiled at her boyfriend- not with her eyes- and her tone was noticeably high and insincere.  Curious.

“Worried,” the boy clipped immediately, sounding not at all worried. “I was just telling the Hound here how concerned I was that you weren’t answering my calls.”

Sansa stood blinking in confusion for only a moment before dropping her bags and reaching into her purse for her phone. “Oh, silly me,” she tittered nervously.  “It’s off.  Did you need something?”

“As a matter of fact…”

Sandor hated- _hated_ \- the way Joffrey treated Sansa, and couldn’t believe she still stuck around for his special brand of abuse.  He was just so casually malicious to the girl, almost like the only pleasure she gave him was in her ability to tolerate his cruelty. 

“The Hound’s in school to be a massage therapist,” Joffrey continued. Wait, what?

“Oh… yeah?” the girl said slowly, clearly confused as to what this had to do with her.

“Yeah. And he needs to practice on people.  I told him you’d be willing.”

Sansa was shifting anxiously from one foot to the other, brow furrowed in concern. It was ages before she leveled her eyes at him.

“You’re going to be a massage therapist?” she asked. It would be a lie to say yes, but somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to disagree with Joffrey- he supposed he and the girl had that in common- so he said nothing.  “Where do you go to school?”

 _Fuck if I know_.  “You probably haven’t heard of it,” he grumbled, not a lie. 

“That place up on King’s Road? The Maester’s Academy of Whole Body Wellness?”

“You _have_ heard of it,” he nodded, still not a lie.

“Sure. I pass it all the time on my way to the gym.”  She smiled weakly in his direction but couldn’t look him in the eyes, then shifted her weight again.  “So… uh… you want me to just… come by the school some time?”

“No, he has to do it today,” Joff answered immediately. Seriously, what the fuck, dude?  Did he really want to torture his girlfriend with an inelegant rub-down from the notorious Hound?

Sansa’s eyes went wide in panic before she turned to him again. “But… do you have a table, or linens, or oils…”

“No, he doesn’t have a table or linens or oils,” Joff mocked her like a great big gigantic asshole. “You’ll just have to improvise.”

“Why can’t he practice on _you?”_    Sandor wanted to laugh- it didn’t happen often, but occasionally the bird showed the wolf within, and it was always a glorious but brief thing.

“He already _did_ ,” Joff snapped in response, clearly displeased.  “Now it’s your turn.”  And just like that the wolf was gone and the bird was back, hopping about from one foot to the other, even more nervous than before.

“I’m supposed to have dinner with my Uncle Benjen,” she mumbled. “I just… need to call him and tell him I can’t make it.”  With that she held up her phone and left the room, and Joff turned to face him with a triumphant sneer.

“Make it good. And next time she’ll remember to check her damn phone.”  Then he flopped back on the couch and turned the TV on.  Fuck, what a prick. 

And what on earth was he thinking going along with it? Wasn’t he always complaining (in his head) about how terribly Joffrey treated this girl who’d never done anything to hurt pretty much anyone?  And now he was nearly as bad, because he was going to pretend to be something he wasn’t, just so he could put his hands on her.  He _hated_ liars, hated lying, and this particular brand of deceit was just as bad, and if he had even one honorable bone in his body he would…

“Hey,” she called from the doorway. “I’m, uh… ready when you are.”

And like the stupid weak moronic love-sick dishonorable cunt that he was, he stood and followed her into the guest bedroom. He’d crashed so many dozens of times in this room that he should feel comfortable, but somehow with her in it he was the complete opposite and found himself standing nervously facing her.

“I, um… I got my lemon verbena bath oil if you want to use that,” she mumbled without looking at him, pointing at a small bottle on the nightstand. “I don’t know if it’s anything like massage oil…”

“Close enough.”

She nodded slightly, still unwilling to meet his eyes. “So, uh… how much am I supposed to, uh… undress?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Was that right? It _sounded_ right.  He saw something like confusion cross her face as if surprised by his response, but then she noticeably relaxed and he congratulated himself on a spectacular answer.

“Ok. Will you just… step out for a minute?”

He did. He stood in the hallway and counted to sixty because how long could it possibly take to shimmy out of that little sweater dress she was wearing?  And the whole time he chastised himself for even going along with this idiotic charade, cursed his very being for his weakness in wanting to see her, to touch her, to watch his hands wander over her skin…

_…fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty._

Opening the door to the guest room felt like opening a present at Christmas- a _good_ present, not shitty socks or underwear or anything, but a beautiful goddess under a sheet and waiting for him to touch her.  Definitely the best present he’d ever received.  Too bad it was a great big lie.   

She had darkened the room with a dimmer switch, which was a good idea- or a bad idea, depending on how you looked at it- but he could still make out the curves of her body under the crisp white sheet on the bed. She was facing away from him, her arms crossed under her head like she was sunbathing at the beach and hair plaited loosely to the side.

“Ready?” he asked awkwardly, then grimaced at his idiotic question. She turned her head in his direction as if to respond, but when she laid eyes on him she looked him over in confusion.

“Aren’t you supposed to take your shirt off?”

 _Was_ he supposed to take his shirt off?  Really?  Absolutely everything he knew about massages he learned from watching porn, so taking his shirt off seemed… probable? 

“Just haven’t got to that part yet,” he grumbled.  

She nodded blithely at his discourteous response then turned her head away again with a sigh, and as soon as she did he quickly removed his shirt. God, this was fucking ridiculous.  What on earth was he thinking?  If she ever found out about this she’d never forgive him, and really, he couldn’t even blame her for that.  It was time to either confess or follow through; neither option appealed to him, not really, but what else could he do?

“I’m gonna just… do your neck, ok?”

Her head whipped toward him suddenly, that same look of bewilderment like she couldn’t believe what he was saying, but then she nodded slowly and turned back around. “Ok.  Try not to get any oil in my hair.”

Alright, so… was he supposed to say something before he started?  Oss?  No, that was karate.  Namaste?  No, that was yoga.  Liberate your spine?  No, that was a fucking commercial.  Fuck!  But absent any other options and not wanting to just stand there, he simply pushed her braid out of the way before carefully running his fingers over her neck. _Just_ her neck.  Maybe she wouldn’t be mad later if he only did her neck.

“I’m kinda glad you’re learning massage. My back has been killing me lately.”

“It has?” he mumbled, a little concerned for her… but mostly panicked for himself. What if she actually expected some sort of therapeutic benefit from this little charade?

“Yeah. Can you go lower?  That feels nice.”

He couldn’t imagine what felt nice about it- all he’d done was rub a little on her neck, how nice could that be? But she had asked him to go lower, told him she liked it, and how could he argue without raising any suspicions?  He’d just have to follow her lead on this, he decided, and carefully folded the sheet down past her shoulder blades. 

The first thing he noticed was the faint tan lines that crisscrossed her back, though it was long past summer. He’d always kinda liked the demure little swimsuits she wore, even when he happily imagined her in far less, much like he was imagining right now.  But he quickly pushed those thoughts away because he was a _professional_ pretend massage therapist and not some creepy Craigslist wacko trying to get his rocks off.  

The second thing he noticed was her delicate little bird bones, clearly visible because the girl was just too dainty. And beautiful.  God, she was beautiful- her creamy skin was flawless under his fingertips, and as he traced every rib and vertebra he could feel himself growing uncomfortably hard.

“Hmmmmm…… you should use more pressure.”

“I know what I’m doing,” he growled out irritably.

He had no idea what the fuck he was doing. In _so many_ different ways.  More pressure?  Really?  He was fairly certain that if he pressed on those tiny bones they’d snap right in half, so how could that be right?  Hesitantly he reached for the bath oil, fumbling with the damn child-proof cap and pouring a little into the cup of his hand.  And then a little more annnnnd… a little more.  If it wasn’t enough, he could add some later.

He recognized the scent immediately- that soft happy smell that lingered around her, he’d always just thought it was _her._  And now he was bathing in it, literally up to his elbows in her essence as he worked it into the smooth skin on her back.

“So what made you decide to become a massage therapist?” she chirped, voice muffled against the pillow.

Well, fuck. What kind of answer was he supposed to give to that question?  He had no idea what possessed someone to do this for a living, and he sure as hell couldn’t lie about it.  “You know how I like to take care of people,” he muttered sarcastically.

She giggled lightly at that, sweet and innocent, then out of nowhere she let out a long, breathy moan that made him go from ‘stiff’ to ‘really fucking rigid’ in one second.

“Oh, God, that feels _so good,”_ she sighed.  “Can you go lower?”

“Lower?” he croaked.   

“Yeah… like, the small of my back. It’s just been so achy lately.”

 _I’m going to hell for this,_ he mused as he lowered the sheet. _Satan himself will pat me on the back and tell me I did a great job._ With his attention now focused at her lower back he could clearly make out the hills of her ass, and he wondered if she had anything on at all under there.  And there was so much skin!  He could barely stand the thought of touching anything so perfect with his great big clumsy hands, except even guilt couldn’t stop him, not now, and he carefully ran his knuckles into the little dip at the small of her back.

“That _tickles,”_ she giggled, wriggling as if to shake his hands away.  “You have to use more pressure.”

Pressure. Fuck, the pressure he was feeling from watching her hips wiggle under the sheet like that was almost unbearable.  She wanted pressure, he could give her pressure.  He could _show_ her pressure, let her feel what he was feeling, work all that tension away... 

_No, no, fuck, get it together, dog._

Taking a deep but silent breath he did what she requested, pressing harder against her back, thumbs working in circles in the oil that smelled like her.

“Oh, yes…” she sighed, breathless. “Just like that.”

There was something about the satisfied tone of her voice that made this even worse- or better, depending how you looked at it. Fuck, he was _definitely_ going straight to hell for this.  Or maybe he was already in hell.  Was this his punishment, to have his imagination come springing to life but not in a way that gave him any kind of relief?  Cause what he was experiencing right now was the extreme opposite of relief.

It was not at all what he’d imagined when he thought of having her in bed. Actually… this was a little too _close_ to what he imagined when he thought of having her in bed- her sprawled (almost) naked in front of him, his hands running (almost) anywhere he wanted, her wriggling and sighing (almost) like he was giving her pleasure.  The only thing missing- and here he had to admit that this was a pretty significant thing- was his cock buried deep inside her.  Other than _that_ it was exactly what he wanted, and it was all a great big lie. 

Looking down at her, though, the missing piece was a little too easy to imagine.

Fuck, it was just _so close_ , lying in bed with her and already mostly undressed.  It would be so easy to toss that sheet aside, to lift her hips up and push inside her, or roll her over and cover her with his body.  She’d probably prefer it that way, he guessed, probably liked kissing and caresses even while she was being fucked.  He could do that- he could be good to her if she would let him.  He didn’t exactly have a reputation as a considerate lover, but for _her_ he could do it. 

In a moment of temporary insanity he experimentally wrapped his hands around her waist, just wanting to see, to _remember_ , his fingers reaching up under her to stroke the soft of her belly.  And she was _so soft_ , he couldn't help but linger there, far longer than anyone could consider necessary.  When she sighed he sighed along with her, and just watched her hips rolling under the sheet till he realized she was likely trying to get comfortable and reality set in.  As much as this counted as reality. 

His breathing was labored and too fucking loud. It seemed unlikely she _wouldn’t_ have noticed, but glancing up at her face, the beatific smile teasing her lips, she was clearly in her own world.  What was she thinking about?  What kinds of things did little birds dream of with their eyes closed and nearly naked and being groped by huge ugly assholes?  For a moment he allowed himself to believe she was thinking the same things he was but… nah, that was too unrealistic, even for a fantasy.

 “Have you learned to use your elbows yet?”

“Elbows?” he repeated dumbly, because he wasn’t really listening.

“Yeah… you can really work deep into the muscle with your elbows. Want me to show you?”

“Uh… ok.”  _Ok?_ What the fuck was wrong with him, why would he say _ok?_

“Lie down.”

He did. He lay slowly down next to her on his stomach, arms crossed under his head, not even trying to hide the confusion on his face as his eyes met hers.  She made a move to leave but seemed to reconsider, biting her lip as if thinking something through.  Then she grabbed a pillow from above her and placed it gently over his face and he felt the bed jostle as she rose.

She climbed _over_ him instead of going around, settling onto the bed right beside his hips, and knowing she was just sitting there in her current state of undress was torture.  But he was glad she used the pillow instead of making him turn away- the ruined side of his face was hidden against the sheets and he very much wanted to keep it that way.

A gust of air welcomed him when she removed the pillow and he had to tell himself to act cool and not try to look at her. Easier said than done, though- he was staring at the spot on the bed she’d only recently vacated while her soft little hands started roaming over his back, firm but gentle, so thorough he could almost imagine she liked it 

“You’re so big,” she complained with a sigh. _You have no idea, girl_.  “I need to move so I can get the proper leverage.  Is that ok?”

“Ok,” he mumbled back, not at all certain what she meant by any of that.   And then she was up again, moving off the bed, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her bare leg as she gracefully tossed it over his hips, felt the full weight of her as she made herself comfortable.  She was _straddling_ him.  Fucking hell!  His whole body was coiled in protest, demanding that he do something about this situation _right now,_ but her hands were exploring him again and he swallowed his complaint.

“You’re so tense. You have to relax.”

Oh, right… _that’s_ what they said at the start of a massage.  In the movies, at least.  And he _tried_ to relax, but then she slid her fingers up over his neck and into his hair, nails grazing his scalp, and he started imagining a different situation in which she would have her hands in his hair.  All thoughts of relaxation went out the window, then, along with the last few shreds of his honor.  Trying to pretend he wasn’t turned on was futile, not when her hands moved in unison to his shoulders and down his arms before returning again to his back. 

“Right… _there,”_ she purred, pressing into his right shoulder blade.  “Your muscles are so stiff… if we use just the right pressure maybe we can soften them up.  Get you some relief.”

He could think of one stiff muscle that could use a little relief, but then the girl was pressing her elbow into his back in a not-exactly-comfortable kind of way and all thoughts sprung straight to the torture she was inflicting.

“That fucking hurts,” he snarled, not at all nice, but she only laughed softly in response.

“Alright, fine- no deep tissue work. We’ll just do an easy, relaxing massage, ok?”

His non-committal grunt was the only response he was willing to give. She covered his eyes with one hand when she reached for the bath oil, using far less than he had- _oops_ \- then got straight to work.  She was much better at this than he was and felt himself starting to loosen up, even with her still straddling his ass, or maybe he just thought so because _she_ was touching _him_.  It was an amazing feeling, her fingers on him, skin against skin, and… wait a minute, how the fuck did this happen? _He_ was supposed to be practicing on _her_ ; this wasn’t some kinky role-play game, he was a legitimate massage therapist and needed to get his practice hours in.  Sort of.  Fuck! 

“When will you graduate?” she asked, drawing him out of his confusing thoughts.

“What?”

“I’ve been thinking about seeing a massage therapist on a regular basis, I suppose I could just go to you.”

When he graduated. He could do that, right?  How hard could it be?  Instantly his mind was racing ahead, going to massage school and working on strangers, setting up an elaborate private practice, just so he could service this one very important client.  Would that be unreasonable?  Certainly didn’t seem so.

“Do you think you’ll specialize?”

“Huh?”

“Specialize,” she repeated. “A lot of therapists find their niche, the style of massage they’re really good at.  Some people only do Thai, which is completely different than your traditional Swedish massage, so it makes sense to only do one.  Some people get into energy work, reiki therapy and aura cleansing and that sort of thing, some even integrate it into their regular services because they feel it provides the greatest benefit.  Others do only sensual massages.  You could specialize in that.”

“You sure do know a lot about massages,” he rasped at her, pointedly ignoring her recommendation just as her hands slid around his sides and under his stomach, along his waistband… then to his back again. _So close…_

“Hmmmm… yeah. It’s kind of a family thing.”

“A family thing?” he echoed; that just sounded weird.

“My uncle makes sure we get massages on a regular basis. He taught me a few things, too.”

“Your… uncle?” Hell, that was even weirder than the _last_ thing she’d said.

“My Uncle Benjen,” she murmured, bending over him to put her mouth near his ear. “He’s an instructor at the Maester’s Academy of Whole Body Wellness.”

His heart came to a complete stop then, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he was busted as a fraud or because he was fairly certain those were her breasts brushing against his back. Maybe both. 

“Surely you’ve heard of him, since you’re a student there,” she continued, her breath hot against his neck. “Funny thing, though- he’s never heard of _you.”_

Fuck fuckity fucking hell, he was right- those were _definitely_ her breasts on his back.

“Nothing to say for yourself, you big liar?”

“I didn’t lie,” he protested immediately.

“No, you didn’t. But _I_ did.  Where have you been getting massages if you think therapists take their shirts off?”

“You don’t want to know,” he grumbled. She laughed happily at that and then, to his horror or maybe even to his delight, she flopped onto her belly next to him, gifting him just the quickest glimpse of bare breast before she landed.  Then she smiled sweetly as if this were the most natural thing in the world, and he met her eyes though he really _really_ wanted to look down and see the rest of her body.  “Does your back even hurt?”

“My poor achy back?” she teased, rolling her eyes and mocking him in a low raspy voice. “’I’m gonna just do your neck, ok?’  God, you’re so gullible.”

“So you knew the whole time?”

“Yep,” she said, clearly pleased with herself. “Disappointed?”

“Relieved,” he admitted. “Stupid fucking game.”

“If you thought it was stupid then why did you go along with it?”

“Why do you think?”

It maybe should have been creepy, but even to his own ears his response sounded almost sweet, and she smiled shyly through lowered lashes like she liked what she heard. _Good answer, dog_.  But then her expression became serious, and she licked her lips as if nervous again. 

“You should have said something,” she reprimanded him, not harshly.

“I should have,” he agreed after only a moment, another fabulous answer. “Why didn’t _you_ say something?”

“Same reason you didn’t, I suppose.”

Somehow he doubted that, but didn’t want to argue, not while they were lying side-by-side in bed, near naked and whispering to each other, so close to being something else entirely. The _same_ reason?  Not likely. 

“You give terrible massages, by the way,” she complained softly. “I feel like an oil slick.”

“I probably just need more practice,” he teased her, though when he decided this was something to tease her about he couldn’t say. But she pressed her mouth into a line to hide her smile so he knew his comment was well-received.

“I need to talk to Joffrey,” she started, eyes serious.

“About what?”

“Oh… about how he’s an asshole and I deserve better.”

Sandor huffed appreciatively. That certainly was the truth and he was glad she finally realized it, though where he fit into this newfound knowledge left him a little baffled.

“Maybe later you can come over and we can… work on your massage technique?” she said hopefully, trying so hard to be seductive though she was far closer to awkward and shy.

“Maybe,” he agreed. “If you let me take you to dinner first.”

He could tell by the way she was blushing and biting her lip that she liked what he said, and once again he was congratulating himself on another really good answer. Who always said all the right things? _This_ guy!  Fuck yeah!

“Ok,” she said, then pushed up off the bed to walk completely naked to the bathroom, pausing just long enough to look at him over her shoulder. “Call me.”  Then she spun completely for him and disappeared behind the bathroom door.

Damn. Now _that_ was a good answer.

 

Business card by the always-delightful LadyCyprus.  Thank you!

 


End file.
